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“The suspect of the Pied Piper murders was last seen in the woodland area south of Bircham. They are known to lure young children out into the area, before removing their eyes in what police have described as a ritualistic act. If you have any information please do not hesitate to contact us on.”

A soft click and the radio went silent. The night felt heavy all around the stolen police cruiser, but she had been given little choice. They wouldn’t listen, they accused her of the death of her child, but it had been him… it… The Piper.

It had come and stolen her little girl in the night but they wouldn’t listen. So she escaped their lies and took matters into her own hands. The officer had been easy to deceive, thinking her a damsel in distress she managed to disarm him of his tazer and turn it on him.

Now sitting with a knife and his firearm on the seat beside her, a .357 Magnum revolver, she watched the trees of the Bircham woods sway with each gust of wind.

Waited. Silently. Patiently.

Before long she saw what she had been so patiently waiting for. A shadow moved through the woods, it carried a small lantern and behind it a pair of smaller shadows followed it. She smirked to herself, sliding the gun into its holster on her thigh and the knife into its sheath on the other thigh, she walked into the woodland.

In the distance the lantern flickered as it swung to the momentum of each step. Darting behind trees for a moment before playfully reappearing, she walked along behind it, always closing the distance between them.

Tonight she got her little girl back, whatever the cost.

Her bare feet made almost no noise in the lush grass beneath her feet. The wind blew in her direction, keeping her scent away from the Piper. Everything was playing to her favour.

She reached the little camp where a small fire burned, deep in the woods. A short, thin creature stood watching the two children who seemed very calm and where chattering away excitedly. Its grey skin glistened in the firelight as the flames danced, its empty eye sockets seemed to absorb the very night itself.

She gently thumbed back the hammer of the gun as a high wind blew; using it to cover the soft click that told her it was cocked. Placing the weapon to the back of its head she fired, shattering its skull into fragments that sprayed over the camp, dampening the fire for a moment.

The children, now terrified, looked up at her. The gun still smoking, their father lay dead in a pool of his own blood. “Why are you in our back yard?” The older child asked through tears and horror. A light inside the house came on.

“Sshh. It’s ok.” She crooned to them, “I just need your eyes,” she told them pulling the blade free.